Six Words
by CSIdrabbles
Summary: Looking back, Allison Cameron couldn't believe how quickly it all changed. Six words. That's all it took. Six measly words... A rewrite of an earlier story, Broken. House/Cameron, post-Series 1.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** This is a rewrite of my fic _Broken_ which I wrote about ten years ago now. I'm updating bits of it as I go so it is slightly different, but it's essentially the same story.

Set post-Series 1.

 **Prologue**  
Looking back, Allison Cameron couldn't believe how quickly it all changed.

Six words. That's all it took. Six measly words took her from happiness to something else entirely. Hurt. Fear. Terror.

Seven syllables. They hadn't even registered properly at first. She had been otherwise occupied, it wasn't until later when she played them back that she realised what she'd known deep down all along.

She was an expert at trying not to see things that were right under her nose. She'd avoided the truth about her husband's illness; she'd avoided the knowledge that her feelings towards House weren't reciprocated; and now this.

She'd known before he said them, of course she did. The relationship was running its course, it was only a matter of time before it ended. And once he'd uttered those words, the countdown went into double time.

But he wasn't about to let her walk away that easily.

It was just as he'd whispered to her; hot and sweaty, on top of her and inside her, one hand gripping the bedframe and the other her bound wrists:

 _I love it when you struggle._


	2. Chapter 1

Cameron arrived at work late that day. She strolled into the conference room, beamed her good mornings and casually sat down. That was her downfall in House's eyes. If she'd just come in and sat down it would have been one thing. Better yet she could have come in late, looking stressed and worn, with tousled hair and a ladder in her pantyhose. The least she could have done was to wear a short skirt; that would've kept him entertained while he ran the board.

It was the smile that did it. She was happy about something and House had a pretty good idea what that was.

Cameron thought she'd been terribly clever, he was sure. She'd not mentioned the guy she was seeing, he hadn't shown up at the hospital, but House had still been aware of a whole host of little tell-tale markers. Like her actually leaving work on time in almost the first time since she'd been working for him. Like the lingering smell of men's deodorant on her when she showed up for work. Like the marks on her wrists where she had obviously engaged in a little light bondage. Like the changed way that she looked at him now.

That had been the biggest clue.

And he didn't care. Not really.

But when she showed up late, flashing that smile at everyone, he made up his mind to wipe the smile off her face. That display earned her all the really nasty or boring jobs, the ones he normally reserved for Chase.

He started the morning by having her test the stool samples of their three patients, all of whom were currently suffering from violent bouts of diarrhoea. She accepted this without complaint. Later, when he pitted her and Foreman against one another and her diagnosis was wrong, he assigned her Eric's load of clinic duty for the afternoon. It hadn't worked; Cameron's only response to this was to wish them all a good afternoon on the way out of the conference room.

And she was still smiling.

That evening Wilson stopped by his place and in between the Chinese takeaway and the beer he casually asked "what was Cameron doing in the clinic this afternoon?"

House just frowned at him over his bottle.

"I was called down for a consult. The board said Foreman was on," Wilson explained.

"I swapped them. Her diagnosis would've killed our patients."

Wilson leaned forward. "You mean, like the three treatments you tried before you found the right one?"

House took another slug from the bottle, choosing to ignore Wilson's comment and flicked on the TV. He pretended to be totally absorbed in the latest news from Plainsboro; three people had been killed in a car crash on a nearby highway, a suspected serial rapist had struck again, and a local girl who was dying of cancer had broken records in some fundraising endeavour. Nothing but bad news. He hit the mute button and turned his attention back to Wilson again.

House and Wilson had been friends long enough that he could tune him in and out the way he'd tune an old transistor radio. It was reassuring to have that white noise occasionally. But sometimes an odd word or phrase would break through.

"She seems happy with her boyfriend, anyway," Wilson said.

"Huh?"

"Cameron. She seems happy with her boyfriend. Have you met him?"

So she _was_ seeing someone. The thrill at being right was dampened by another sensation which originated somewhere in the pit of his stomach.

"No."

"You didn't know?" Wilson was smiling now, despite House's best assurances that he had no interest in Allison Cameron, he knew. He _knew_.

"I'd figured it out. Showing up late. Bringing a bag of overnight things to work with her. Smelling like men's cheap deodorant," his tone was casual, the grip on his beer bottle was not.

"You went through her bag?"

House shrugged. The throb of pain in his leg was dull, but he reached into his pocket for a pill all the same. "If people don't tell you things, how else are you going to figure stuff out?" He pulled himself to his feet and thumped towards the kitchen. "Shouldn't you get home to your wife?"

"Since when have you cared about Julie missing me?" Wilson raised his voice so it would carry into the kitchen. When House didn't reply right away he added, "are you jealous?"

Gregory House didn't get jealous. He often wanted things he couldn't have, like the use of his leg back, but he wasn't jealous of the people who had the use of both their legs. And he most definitely wasn't jealous of whoever it was Cameron was sleeping with. It was just that he'd never actually considered the possibility that she would go off and start seeing someone else. Now that he thought about it, he kind of liked the way that she used to look at him. So many of the women he went with looked at him with pity; it was a look she rarely directed at him.

He had assumed that she was pretty much stuck on him and that she would be a constant in his life until he'd had enough and could safely push her away. An unspoken voice in the back of his head added _or could draw her near_ but he ignored it as usual.

All the same, the confirmation that she was seeing someone, someone Wilson had met no less, wasn't a surprise. House knew he shouldn't have any strong feelings about the situation, but he did and it made him angry; angry with Wilson for knowing it, angry with Cameron for flaunting it in front of Wilson, angry with himself. The latter was the source of most of the anger and just cause for another Vicodin before showing Wilson to the door.

James Wilson obviously found the whole thing very amusing. Before he left he pointed out that Cameron had found the perfect way to get House's attention. "It's just like always. You can't resist a puzzle," he told House. "She throws herself at you and you push her away. She moves on and suddenly you start thinking of it as a challenge."

He headed out the door, pulling it to behind him, but clearly couldn't resist getting in a parting shot. "If I'd known the way to attract you was by playing hard to get, I'd have told her a year ago. Could've saved both of you a lot of trouble."

He closed the door before the swiftly flung book House launched at him could hit its target.


	3. Chapter 2

The day she had realised that House couldn't love her, Cameron had phoned her friend Maggie and told her she needed to find an Anti-House. The way she saw it was that when a person was giving up smoking, they used nicotine patches to wean themselves off the cigarettes; she needed someone who would wean her off of House.

She'd been very clear; she wasn't looking for Mr Right, she was looking for Mr Right-Now.

And so Maggie had provided Mike Edwards. Cameron still wasn't one hundred percent clear on how Maggie knew him. Maggie had brushed over the subject saying something about him being someone her husband, Sam, knew through work. Whatever the connection, the first date had gone well; in a few short hours Cameron had learned more about Mike than she had learned about House in the entire time she had been working from him.

Dates consisting of dinner and a movie had progressed to invitations back to her place, to nights together; first hers, then his. She had started to wonder if perhaps Mike might actually be something more than just Mr Right-Now.

More than anything Cameron had wanted to prove to House that she didn't just date damaged men, but she wasn't in any hurry to bring up the subject of Mike with her colleagues. She planned to casually drop the subject of her boyfriend into conversation in a few weeks, when she knew just how serious they were. It would be interesting to see House's reaction and a useful gauge to see just how well her Unofficial House-desensitisation Therapy was going.

She had no plans to let Mike meet them though. She'd let him pick her up from work a few times, but had forbidden him from stepping instead the building. It wouldn't be fair to put Mike through the trauma of an introduction to her colleagues. She could just imagine how it would go; Chase nonchalant, Foreman friendly but guarded, and House leaning on his cane giving Mike a stare designed to terrify him into submission. Typical of House, _I don't want her, but nobody else can have her either_.

Maggie had done a good job finding Mike. He was almost everything she was looking for.

She should have known it was too good to last.

It started gradually. In the bed room.

It hadn't even bothered her at first, it was just that simple.

He liked to be in control.

And to begin with she was happy to let him. She spent her days holding people's lives in her hands, making life and death decisions. It was almost a relief to hand over an element of control to someone else.

Then one night at her place he brought out a tie and expertly looped it around her wrists, fastening it to her headboard. She didn't complain; it was exciting. He did it again the next night they spent together and when he didn't produce a tie when they next had sex she actually queried it, earning her a kiss on the nose before he moved on to more serious business.

It was all fun to begin with.

Until it wasn't anymore.

She knew House had noticed the marks on her wrists. She'd seen him looking; who knew how long it would be before he brought it up. It would inevitably be in front of Foreman and Chase, probably their patient as well if he could help it. He was almost certainly saving the revelation for a patient who would be truly shocked at the thought of someone being tied up during sex; Cameron guessed she was safe as long as they didn't have to treat any more nuns.

It seemed to happen all at once, and yet at the same time, the realisation took time to build. But once she was aware of it, Cameron couldn't shake the feeling that it was time to move on.

And yet she didn't. Not right away.

It wasn't until she was at work, studying the board and trying to join the dots between the symptoms to figure out what House was seeing that the rest of them were missing.

 _INSOMNIA. PSORIASIS. DOUBLE VISION. TREMORS._

 _I love it when you struggle._

The memory caught her by surprise. His mouth had been close to her ear, his breath tickling her neck; her own breath had been coming in gasps and at the time she had barely registered what he'd said to her. Now she had no doubt about what he'd said and something about his tone sent a shiver down her spine.

When she returned her gaze to the board House was staring at her, pen in one hand, cane twirling in the other. "Care to add anything?"

 _I've got to break up with my boyfriend._ "No. Nothing,"

"So Chase wants to give him some cream and send him home to die, Foreman wants to do another MRI and you want to do nothing? Great. He's got fantastic odds," he stopped twirling the cane and tapped the handle on the board. "Of course he's got double vision and tremors, he's not had a decent night's sleep in six months."

Cameron's felt her brain finally catch up with the here and now. "Could be an allergy causing the psoriasis? We should search his home, work..."

She saw the almost imperceptible nod of House's head. He'd probably been thinking that all along.

"Right. Chase, Cameron, you go search his house. Foreman, you-" House paused, gave his little head a shake. "Actually, no. Chase, you and Foreman search the home. Cameron, you book him in for an MRI," he limped over to a chair and resumed the cane twirling.

She got to her feet, tugging her sleeves down over the marks on her wrists. Chase and Foreman were already heading for the door. She waited for the snide comment from House for her lack of attention while he ran the board but none came. He just watched her follow her colleagues to the door; when she looked back he was still watching her.

She had a funny feeling that his gaze was on her along the whole length of the corridor.


	4. Chapter 3

House was speaking. Cameron could see his lips moving, but somehow she couldn't quite tune in to what he was saying; something about the patient's illness obviously being caused by his adulterous wife.

And then he stopped.

His gaze shifted to something behind her. Something in the corridor outside the conference room. Cameron turned a fraction of a second after Foreman and Chase; the something was standing in the corridor outside holding a large bouquet of roses, beaming at her.

She didn't want to get up, didn't want to see him here, didn't want Foreman or Chase to know about him. But she'd looked round now, she couldn't deny that she'd seen him. And if she didn't get rid of him soon, House would make a comment. Cameron risked a glance back at her boss; she could almost see the cogs whirring as he prepared some scathing remark.

Before he could come up with anything, Cameron got to her feet, mumbled "excuse me", and left the room.

"What are you doing here?"

Mike opened his mouth to reply but Cameron walked past him, not stopping until she was well out of sight of House; he would almost certainly be standing in the doorway hoping to eavesdrop on the conversation.

"A guy can't bring his girlfriend flowers on their anniversary?" Mike gave her one of his winning smiles and thrust the bouquet into her arms.

Cameron frowned at the flowers. "Anniversary of _what_?"

"Our first date," he stepped forward, placing his hands on her shoulders and leaning in for a kiss. "I'm taking you out for dinner tonight. Someplace nice."

"Mike, I told you, we need to talk," she turned her head, forcing him to plant the kiss on her cheek instead of her lips.

Mike released her. "We will, at dinner." And before Cameron could say another word, he nonchalantly strolled away, calling back, "I'll pick you up outside."

She stood and watched him, feeling the eyes of the occupants of the nurses' station on the back of her head. He stepped into the elevator, gave her a goofy little wave and disappeared as the doors closed. Even then she didn't move right away, she had no desire to return to the conference room where she suspected that right now she was probably the main topic of conversation.

From behind her, Cameron could hear snatches of conversation between two of the women at the desk.

 _"No one's ever brought me flowers at work."  
"He could sweep me off my feet any day."  
"How much do you think a bunch of roses like that costs anyway?" _

Cameron took a deep breath, turned on her heel and headed for the desk where the pair of nurses were sitting. The conversation immediately ceased and the women suddenly seemed fully engrossed in some paperwork. Cameron dumped the flowers on the counter and said "give these to someone, will you?"

The taller of the two, tall and blonde with greying hair, looked down at the doctor. "Are you sure you don't want me to find a vase for them?"

Cameron shook her head and walked away, not trusting herself to say anything else. She knew that this would just be fuel on the fire. Doctor Cameron had a tall, dark, handsome stranger show up with an armful of roses and she just gave them away. House would hear of it. And then she would hear of it. He would make sure of that.

As she walked in the door, the men fell silent. That, far more than the slightly-too-casual pose Chase had assumed, told her that she had been the prime topic of conversation. Cameron felt House's eyes on her as she slid back into her seat, willing him not to say anything.

He hesitated for just a moment too long before saying "Chase, go tell the patient his wife is an adulterous whore. Foreman, go get the wife a scrip for antibiotics; she needs to be treated even if she isn't exhibiting symptoms yet." Then he paused, giving the men time to leave the room.

Cameron looked him square in the face, daring him to say something unrelated to the case. Her cheeks felt warm, but she was determined not to back down. _This will be good practice for at dinner tonight_ , she told herself.

"Cameron, new boyfriend?"

 _Not for long_. "None of your business," Cameron got to her feet. "If you don't need me to do anything, I'm going."

She was almost at the door when House spoke. "You're breaking up with him."

Perhaps it had been the lack of roses when she returned to the conference room. Perhaps it had been the fact that instead of greeting Mike with a passionate kiss, she walked right past him. Perhaps it was something in her body language when she resumed her place at the table. Perhaps House was just a little bit psychic and had somehow read her mind. Whatever it was, she paused in her step, almost hearing the unspoken words following House's statement. _He knew_.

And she wanted to stay. She wanted to tell him, tell someone, _anyone_. But she just kept walking. Right out of the hospital. Right into Mike's car.


	5. Chapter 4

It was a nice restaurant. The sort of place that people visited for anniversaries and special occasions. Cameron had told him they needed to talk and Mike had countered it by announcing he'd booked a table at Intermezzo. She couldn't help but wonder if he knew what was coming and this was his attempt to maintain some control over her; make her feel uncomfortable and back down. She wasn't going to be swayed.

Cameron had spent the day practicing what she was going to say to him and yet his arrival at the hospital had thrown her off. When the time came her mind went strangely blank and so the conversation skittered around the edges of half a dozen inane topics.

She let Mike order the wine, which she didn't drink, as well as her food, which she didn't eat. When the breaded mushrooms were served she sat staring at the plate, fork in hand.

"Tough day at work?" Mike asked, dunking a mushroom in garlic sauce.

Cameron took a deep breath, set down her fork. "I said we needed to talk."

Mike laughed. "That sounds serious."

She waved a vague hand across the table. "This just isn't working for me," she hesitated. _You scare me_. She couldn't say it here, not like this in the middle of a restaurant, surrounded by people.

He was staring at her now; fork held tightly in one hand, the other flat on the table, all humour had left his eyes. Cameron forced herself to look away, to make herself keep speaking. It was like ripping off a band-aid; do it quickly, get it over with.

"I don't think we should see each other any more." As she said the words a wave of relief flooded over her. It was done.

The seconds ticked on in silence. There was nothing else she wanted to add and yet she couldn't just get up and leave. Not until he had said something. _Anything_.

"You're breaking up with me?" he said at last, leaning low across the table, gripping the fork like a weapon.

Cameron sat back in her seat. Carefully removing the napkin from her lap, she folded it in half, in half again, and set it on the table. "I didn't want to do it like this," she muttered under her breath, sure that the other restaurant patrons were all looking their way. "I'm sorry."

"Oh. You're _sorry_."

She had nothing left to say to him, in reply she pushed back her chair, fumbled in her purse for a couple of twenties and dropped them onto the table. The plan was just to walk out. She'd call a cab from outside, right now she just wanted to be far, _far_ away from Mike.

As she passed he stuck out a hand. Cameron dodged to one side but she wasn't fast enough and he grabbed her wrist. "Allison," he hissed, ignoring her attempts to free her wrist from his grip. "You can't just walk away from me."

With one last wrench, Cameron tugged her arm away. "That's exactly what I'm doing," she replied.

Outside the air was colder than she was expecting, but it felt good. Her skin felt flushed, her heart was racing, somehow the world around her seemed sharper. Cameron took a deep breath, feeling the cold air chilling her chest. Already her head was feeling clearer than it had for weeks.

She'd planned to stop outside Intermezzo and call a cab on her cell phone, but once she'd started walking she felt so free that she just kept going. Taking long strides, arms swinging gently. The streets were almost empty; there were a couple of giggling girls tumbling out of a bar on the other side of the street; a car drove by at the end of the block; someone, somewhere, raised their voice in a distant building.

Cameron was lost in her own thoughts when she felt a hand close on her wrist. Before she had time to react she was almost pulled off her feet by a fierce jerk. Struggling to keep her balance she looked up and met Mike's eyes. He was grimacing and there was a look in his eyes that she couldn't remember seeing there before.

She tried to pull away from him but he had his other arm on her shoulder, forcing her towards a nearby alleyway. Cameron started to yell for help, but Mike jammed a hand over her mouth, crushing her lips into his palm.

"Don't do that," he hissed at her, bringing his face so close to hers that she could smell the mix of wine and garlic on his breath. "We have something special, Ally. You can't just walk away from me." As he spoke he backed her up against a wall.

Cameron struggled against his grip but he only squeezed harder, digging his fingers into the soft flesh above her collar bone. She cried out in pain and felt tears in her eyes; she wouldn't cry, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"Look, Ally. Let's go back to my place," he seemed to be relaxing a little now. He was still holding her shoulder in his pincer grip, but he loosened his hand from her mouth. Mike stroked her cheek, her chin, brushed his thumbs over lips, then leaned in for a kiss.

Cameron let him, but only because she could still see that look in his eyes; the look that terrified her and set her pulse racing. She needed time to think, time to work her way out of this situation. For a horrifying moment as he ended the kiss and their eyes met she realised he knew, _he knew_. Whatever she said or did, he knew she was going to leave him. The words floated into her mind again, _I love it when you struggle_. Was this all part of his game?

Mike finally let go of her shoulder, allowing Cameron to step forward. For a moment she contemplated running, but she was too slow. In a moment he had wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close to him. With his other hand, he played with her hair, coaxing it back from her ear so he could lean down and whisper to her. "We'll go back to mine. You said you wanted to talk. Once you've got it out of your system, I've got a treat planned for you."

He must have felt Allison tense at his words, perhaps he was preparing for her to make an attempt to bolt, because she was suddenly aware of the arm snaked around her waist tightening. He was holding her close against his body with no intention of letting her get away.

So she let him lead her out towards the main road. Cameron's mind whirled. The last thing she wanted to do was get in the car with him. It was in a parking lot just down the road; she had to get away from him. Cameron searched the street; there was no one outside the bar now, even through the closed door she could hear the music thumping. If she screamed no one would hear her. The restaurant was at the far end of the block, they wouldn't pass it on the way to the car. There was no one to help her.

A shiver ran through her body as she thought about what might happen if she let Mike get her into the car. Acting on impulse she pushed all of her slight body into him. Mike staggered slightly but for a split second he loosened his grip on her waist. It was all she needed. Cameron twisted away from her ex-boyfriend and made to run away.

She barely made it two steps before something hit her in the back and she fell forward. The sidewalk bit into her palms and she felt cold pavement on her knee as her pants tore. Shock mingled with embarrassment which turned to rage as she looked over her shoulder to see Mike standing over her. He was smiling at her, no, not smiling, _grinning_.

And Cameron realised, as she struggled to her feet, this was all part of his game.

"You can't just walk away from me, Allison," he reminded her, and she heard the words he didn't say, _I love it when you struggle_.


	6. Chapter 5

The woman was his third fare of the evening and Dragan Petric noticed her blooded nose as soon as he pulled up to the kerb.

Normally he enjoyed his job; working nights like this, driving round the bars and nightclubs, could be easy money. There was always the drunk guy who tipped too much, or the gaggle of young women out for a night out who paid five dollars each regardless of the actual sum of the journey.

And it left him his days free. He could see the kids to school, take his daughter to her ballet classes afterwards, spend a little quality time with his wife if they weren't too tired.

He liked people. He always had. He had always felt like he had the most energy when he was around other human beings; like he absorbed their energy and then used it for himself. That was why he liked working at night. The people he picked up were full of energy; intoxicated energy, nervous energy, sexual energy. Dragan fed on that.

The brunette who got into his cab did not exude any kind of energy. She kept her head down low, her face screened by a sheet of dark hair but Dragan thought he caught a glimpse of a bloodied lip. She mumbled an address and settled in the back of the cab, fiddling with her purse. As he pulled away from the kerb, Dragan took a glance in the rear view mirror; she'd pulled out a couple of notes and some keys.

As much as he liked chatting to his fares, Dragan knew that sometimes it was best to keep quiet. This seemed to be one of those times. He bit back a comment about taking her to a hospital and drove her to her destination. When they arrived outside her building, she thrust a bill at him, and suggested he keep the change in a voice barely above a whisper. He watched her bolt inside and then pulled away.

It wasn't until nearly four hours later that one of his passengers, half of the couple occupying the back seat of the cab, fished out a small black purse from the floor.

"There's a bag back here," the woman announced, interrupting Dragan's story about his son's latest Little League success. "It's not mine."

When the cab stopped, the purse was deposited into the front passenger footwell, where it stayed until the end of his shift. Dragan's suspicions were confirmed; just inside the purse was an ID badge from Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital with ALLISON CAMERON, M.D. printed beside a photo of an attractive brunette. Dragan guessed that this was the woman with the bloody nose on a better day.

Dragan knew he could root around in the bag some more and perhaps find something with the woman's address on it. Somehow he couldn't bring himself to do it. He got the impression that she had been violated enough, even rooting around in her purse felt like too much. Even if he did find her address, he couldn't very well go knocking on her door at this time of night.

And it seemed as though the woman was a doctor. He guessed, given the state she seemed to be in, she would have gone to the hospital. Dragan checked his watch. It was late, but hospitals never really closed, did they?


End file.
